


Divine Debris

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Series: Exquisite Red [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Dark, M/M, Serial Killers, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 08:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6604429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They dared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Divine Debris

They dared. They dared to think that heaven could drive a wedge between them, trying to tout Dean as a “righteous man” and Sam as some kind of blood-stained Devil - not that he could deny the latter. But Dean had as much blood on his hands, as much filth under his skin as Sam did, and it didn’t take long for the angels to realize the truth.

 

Uriel raged about mud-monkey humans dirtying his father’s plans. Castiel, on the other hand, watched quietly, but the calculation and planning in his gaze was enough to put Sam on edge. Angels are warriors of heaven, after all.

 

It wasn’t easy, biding his time when Dean was in danger, but it was the knowledge of that self-same danger that kept Sam’s fury at bay. All it took was monitoring the signs; angels leave a trail just like demons, and Sam wonders if they know that they’re not that different after all.

 

Castiel is the one who finds his way into Sam’s trap; he’d hoped for Uriel, but Castiel has his own debts to pay. It had been a long time since the last time Dean had doubted them, doubted what they did and what got them off, and Castiel had resewn those seeds that Sam worked so hard to get rid of.

 

“You should have left us alone.” Sam keeps his voice soft, not wanting it to worry Dean. His brother had chosen to stay outside while Sam worked; the kill had never meant as much to Dean as it does to Sam.

 

“You should have followed Azazel back into the pit you crawled out of,” Castiel bites back. Grace glows in his eyes, a hollow threat bound up by the endless sigils painted throughout the warehouse.

 

“Dean is mine,” Sam goes on, ignoring the jibe. He knows what he is and what he’s done. It’s never kept him up at night like it has his brother. “You can’t have him. Not you, not heaven, and certainly not _God_.”

 

A slice just along his index finger, and Sam traces the last line of one of the sigils in his own blood. He smiles when Castiel screams, the angel’s true voice choked down until he’s only screaming with human vocal cords.

 

“What have you _done_ -” the angel rages, flinging himself forward only to stop dead short of the ring of holy fire. He looks wary as Sam tamps it out, but the chance for escape is too great.

 

“You have no power here. No grace,” Sam grits, slamming Castiel up against a nearby beam.

 

“Sammy?” Dean. He’s standing just beyond the edge of light, eyes reflective in the dark.  

 

“It’s okay, Dean. Come here.” Sam holds Castiel in place while Dean edges closer, unsure eyes flicking between them and fuck - Sam wants to rip this angel’s _throat_ out. There are shackles in Dean’s hands, the ones Sam had made just for this purpose and he accepts them with a smile, letting Dean help him chain the angel thoroughly to the post.

 

Digging roughly through Castiel’s clothes as Dean steps away, Sam finds what he’d hoped for: an angel blade. The first slow trace down the angel’s stubbled cheek only makes him grunt, but white-blue grace shines through and dances in the dark For a moment, Sam’s mind flashes back to his first, to that dingy little barn in Nowhere, Kentucky and he knows exactly what he wants from this.

 

Castiel screams. He screams in his vessel’s voice, blue and red seeping from the cuts as Sam slashes at his face and neck, tearing through the suit and staining the white dress shirt with blood. He lasts longer than any other, the mere existence of his grace keeping Castiel alive while Sam continues to cut. It’s hard to reach all the places he wants, but letting go of his captive now is too dangerous. Castiel is desperate, voice escalating as his true one tries to shout for his brothers and sisters, but the wards trap it in with them.

 

“No one’s coming for you, little angel. Not until it’s far too late.” Castiel seems to realize the truth of the words, fighting harder despite his weakening body and the strength of the chains holding him

 

There’s a flash when Sam finally drives his blade into Castiel’s chest, so bright he has to close his eyes and heat rolls over his face. Empty blue eyes gaze back at him when he dares to open his own again, and all of the light is gone from the wounds, leaving only seeping blood behind.

 

Dean is watching, still watching from a safe distance. No blood on his clothes and no expression on his face, and it’s a verdict Sam waits almost anxiously for. The now-empty vessel crumples to the floor as Sam turns to face his brother, shirt and jeans wet with blood, and he can feel a few splatters that have splashed across his face.

 

“You  ruined your clothes, Sammy,” Dean says at last, blank look morphing into that big-brother frown that Sam remembers from childhood. “We’re gonna have to burn those, too.”

 

The warehouse goes up in flames behind them, the body of one salesmen and a set of bloody clothes getting buried under falling beams and eaten up by flame. Sam watches it in the rearview for as long as he can, tugging on the new shirt Dean had brought him and flexing his toes in the unfamiliar confines of new boots.

 

Dean drags his attention back by lacing their fingers together, and Sam can’t help but admire the contrast between his blood stained hand and Dean’s clean ones. He thinks that, maybe, it’s perfect.

 


End file.
